(To my thinking this action, often repeated, was one of the things that for so long made them certain we had come from the skies.) In the cabin he gave the Indian a cup of wine and a biscuit dipped in honey.

He gave him a silken cap with a tassel and himself put round his throat one of our best strings of beads, and into his hand not one but three of the much-coveted hawk bells.

He was kinder than rain after drought.

First and last, he could well lend himself to the policy of kindness, for it was not lending.

Kindness was his nature.
In an hour this Indian, returned to his canoe, was rowing toward shore with a swelling heart and a determined loyalty.